The Other Girl
by TillynSophie
Summary: 'And she didn't know how she was supposed to react. Hey, long time no see, what have you been doing these past years? I'm currently unemployed and struggling with a bounty on my head, you know the usual. When did you get attractive' Nothing ever goes to plan and Clara Whitten had not expected to see HIM again especially not after all those years. OC/Sherlock.NEW STORY.Rated T R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The air was still. Frozen in its silence as the heavy-duty windows held the outside world at bay, yet she could just make out the ever present honks and squeal of tires on tar. The soft glow of the headlights winked as the cars shot past. It was almost peaceful and she knew that if things had gone according to plan it would have been a pleasant night.

Cold maybe, but definitely pleasant.

Only the drip drop of Jack O'Neill's blood as it hit the freshly swept floor of the now abandoned café could be heard. His limp arm spread across the counter had scattered the sugar from its shaker jar and the cash register appeared to have been sprayed with the contents of his head.

Clara sighed before slipping behind the dead man and helping herself to the coffee machine. She felt like she deserved the caffeine after successfully ushering out the screaming customers and horrified staff. And couldn't be a coincidence that she was meant to be meeting this very man for a dinner, no it had to be some roll of chance that she had gotten lost and took longer then she had anticipated to find her way through London's crowded streets and many night goers.

Why was he dead? Who benefitted from this?

If only she had gotten here sooner and spotted who was responsible.

When she had pulled up her rental car in the back car park people were already sprinting of into every direction, mobile phones pressed against ears, cars shooting away. She must have been the only person to walk towards the scene.

Scotland yard was going to have a field day.

Pushing the coffee grinds carefully into the grinder Clara looked up to watch two men stroll briskly across the street towards the café. In the distance a siren was singing, she had roughly five minutes till the police arrived to clear out the crime scene and then she would have to be scarce.

To her surprise the two men pushed open the door, (ignoring her tactfully flipped closed sign) to stop and stare at the overall mess.

The taller of the two stood straight, his dark hair matted against his scalp by the rain and gave her a quick once over before dismissing her presence entirely to focus on the crime scene.

"What are you doing here?"

Clara looked up from the coffee machine to shorter man. He was standing leaning on one leg, hands deep in his pockets he watched her pour out the right amount of milk into a jug with a look of utter confusion.

Clara smiled to herself before pulling out an extra cup.

"Making a coffee, would you like one?" She asked politely, she had four minutes till the police arrived.

"Oh… I meant." He started.

"John she quite obviously is not with the police as the car outside is a rental and must belong to her as every other vehicle in about a 10 mile radius is heading out of town due to the shooting, and seeing as she does not work as a barrister or at this café judging by her clothes and over all general appearance she is therefore either the killer or a civilian. And no, I do not believe she is the murderer. Does that satisfy your curiosity and I'll take it black with two sugars." The dark haired man answered quickly all in one breath giving the man now known to be John a 'don't be stupid' look.

Clara blinked. For some reason he sounded familiar. Pouring the two cups of coffee she gently scooped two teaspoons of sugar into one and stirred before carrying it over to the taller man. He nodded absently towards her general direction before cradling it in the palms of his hands as he rotated around the room.

"Umm no thanks, but if you don't mind me asking who are you and why didn't you run away like every one else? I mean no offence but making a coffee after someone was murdered is not exactly the norm". John said before stepping over to examine the body.

Clara took a sip of her drink before perching on a stool to watch.

"I could ask you the same question, except minus the coffee part." She pointed out, scrunching up her forehead as she thought.

She watched as the taller man jumped from where he was standing on a chair and began examining the dead body wit a sort of barely controlled excitement. Clara's frown deepened as she watched. Who was he and why did he feel familiar? She had definitely seen him around before, maybe a long time ago as although his face was not familiar, his tone of voice and the way he carried himself was something she had seen before. She knew him or at least had known him at some point in time.

The man in question obviously was under a similar conundrum as he continued to glance curiously up in her direction, an equally puzzled expression flicking across his face.

John nodded and stood up straight offering his hand.

"I guess that's fair, I'm John Watson. A doctor, well ex-doctor. And he is… well you can introduce your self I don't have to do everything for you Sherlock!" He finished glaring angrily at his partner.

The man or Sherlock rolled his eyes before picking himself up from the floor and dusting himself of.

"I don't need your help John and I think I'm correct in assuming that I can function quite happily without your input. I…"

The crash of Clara's cup against the tilled floor jolted him out of his tirade and Sherlock looked up in time to catch a look of pure shock cross the woman's face. He watched mesmerised as each emotion was steam rolled by the next: surprise, disbelief, confusion, joy, uncertainty and sadness. Her cheeks blushed, matching her auburn hair as she came to realise that she was staring.

Crossing the room he held out his hand, a fake smile plastered across his jaw as he watched her play absently with the chain around her neck.

"Sherlock Holmes. How do I know you?" He asked simply taking her limp hand before stepping away beginning to evaluate her.

She was twenty-five years of age; clearly still grieving over someone probably a boyfriend. Ex-military maybe judging by the defensive position she had sub consciously taken in reply to her shock although more likely was an ex-police officer going by her age yet why she no longer continued with her occupation was unknown. She was fit and her pale skin and clear accent told him that she was British yet had probably spent a lot of her time recently in France. And she was clever, at least judging by the normal standards. Apart from that he couldn't tell. This annoyed him.

All this he had taken in from when he had walked through the door, now he stood gazing at her attire, marvelling at the contradictions. Who was she?

Clara felt her blush deepen under his intense stare and forced herself to drag her eyes away from his, she shakily sipped at her coffee.

"Clara, Clara Whitten." She said watching in amusement as his body went slack and he stared at her in amazement before his face went blank.

It had been a long time, 15 years to be exact. And she didn't know how she was supposed to react. Hey, long time no see, what have you been doing these past years? I'm currently unemployed and struggling with a bounty on my head, you know the usual. When did you get attractive?

Each thought swirled around in a tangled mess and Clara bit her lip sharply to keep them from spilling out. Sherlock stood bolted to the floor his eyes filled with a multitude of questions before settling on one.

Reaching out with one slender, pale finger he slipped the silver chain from underneath its restraints. The pendant swung happily to be free, shining in the artificial light.

He let out a short intake of breath.

"How do you two know each other?" John said his eyes darting from Sherlock' focused stare to the woman who was now picking up the shards of glass. He watched in surprise as the all so mighty detective crouched to knock her hands out of the way and scope up the pieces his eyes never leaving her face.

The sound of the police siren echoed from outside and Clara shook her head gently before walking towards the back door. Trying the handle she sighed as she realised it was most definitely locked.

"Where are you going?" John asked. The two men watched as she crossed the room and opened one of the windows that led to a side street.

Clara pulled herself up onto the table, zipping up her jacket in preparation for the cold. Turning to face the two men she gave a little shrug.

"I'm currently not on the best terms with the police and I'm expected elsewhere." She answered pulling one leg over the windowsill, making sure to judge the distance to the ground. She could make it.

"Where?" Sherlock asked, his deep voice startling her.

"Somewhere." She answer cheekily. "I've had someone following me for the past week, I think it's time to say hello."

Clara couldn't help herself as she sent him a wink. Swinging her other leg in one fluid motion she fell gracefully onto the pathway before slipping into a jog. The cool nights air greeting her instantly as her feet pounded the pavement. She couldn't help but wonder if she would see him again. Flicking her hood up she let the rain cool her burning face.

Back in the café Sherlock and John watched the rain enter the now open window and pool on the ground. The tinkle of the bell attached to the door pulled them out of their trance.

"Oh look the freak and his pet beat us, wonder if they did it. I wouldn't be surprised." Sally Donovan called eyeing the two up and down before calling over her shoulder.

Lestrade rolled his eyes before pushing past to stand in front of the crime scene.

"So what do you think happened?" He asked, looking hopefully at the detective.

John turned towards the inspector and nodded a greeting waiting for Sherlock to begin his analysis. Sherlock however stared fixedly at his hands. The pieces of broken glass still cupped protectively between his fingers.

* * *

_So there we are, chapter one is complete and already i would love to know what you think. In this story i'm going to try my absolute hardest to stick to the true character of Sherlock. So far i've found that the majority of OC/Sherlock stories follow along the lines of 'Hello, let's have sex', which although can be fun ;) they often don't follow the character of Sherlock or the exciting mysteries that we fellow fans adore. I'm going to try to keep this up and would__** LOVE**__ to hear advise, hell even constructive criticism would be __**AMAZING**__! _

_**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**_

_Have fun!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

_"Where are we going Sherlock?" The little girl smiled up at her friend, her red hair plaited neatly into two braids that swung behind her as she skipped. For every one of his long strides she had to take three skips to keep up. It was already possible to tell that in a few years the skinny boy would become a tall man._

_Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes, he should have brought her an apple. She would have been too busy chewing to ask silly questions._

_"You heard about the girl who went missing last month right?" Subconsciously taking her hand in his as they crossed the road._

_"Amy something wasn't it? She was the year above me." Clara smiled swinging their now linked hands back and forth._

_The nine-year-old Sherlock nodded and gave her a smile._

_"Well the police are saying she ran away, but I don't think so. Why would she? No I think someone has been taking little kids from parents. I mean it has to be connected to the others, Thomas Smith and Isabella Frederick can't have just wandered of as well, it doesn't make sense." He finished out of breath._

_The pair stepped of the pavement and Clara let herself be dragged behind the post office. She liked the man who owned it as he had always slipped her lollies when her mother was purchasing stamps._

_ "Do you think I might be stolen?" She asked eyes wide as she looked up at the dark haired boy._

_ Sherlock had to hide a grin at her serious expression. She didn't look frightened, only curious and a little excited at the idea of an adventure._

_ "Don't be silly! I wouldn't let him." He answered now scanning the pedestrians as they walked past._

_Clara smiled at his words and tried to help by hiding behind a half full bin. At least it wasn't the one behind the butchers, this one had lovely pieces of old letters which was much better then the left overs of some dead animal. She stopped and frowned as a thought struck her._

_"How do you know it's a man that's doing this?" She asked, leaning against the brick wall, she watched as her friend focused on the post office door, his eyes already displaying a look that she knew from experience to mean that he had some crazy scheme on the way._

_ "Well obviously it's Mr Briggs that's behind the disappearances." He started before beginning to list the following reasons. Clara waited, patiently for him to take a breath it was pointless to interrupt._

_ "But I like him, he always gives me a musk stick when mum takes me to post her letters." She whined._

_ Sherlock sighed and gave her a look._

_ "Urgh I hope your not right." Clara muttered as she carefully straightened grey dress that fell to the tops of her knees._

_ "I'm always right." He stated simply._

_ Clara rolled her eyes and blew a strand of hair out of her face. Goodness he could be annoying._

_ "What about the time when…"_

_ "That's not important, and anyway, I didn't realise she had a dog. Come on I know how to catch him, I have a plan." Sherlock said before leaving the shadows to walk across the road._

_Clara grinned flipping each plait over her shoulders before running to catch up with him._

In her newly acquired hotel room, Clara rolled onto her side pushing the over bleached mattress of into a pile. There was no point in pretending anymore, she was never going back to sleep.

Standing up she crossed the room, her bare legs slipping over the floorboards. Living on the run for the past year had meant she carried only what she could fit in a small backpack and pyjamas were not high on the priority list.

Taking a seat in an armchair she ran her fingers between her hair separating each strand before starting on the next. Her hair reached just below her shoulders in heavy layers and she wondered for a moment wether she should cut it before remembering that she didn't have scissors.

She would look a mess in the morning and although she knew that it was partly to do with her own vanity, it was important that tomorrow she looked confident. Especially after what she had done to that police doctor who had been trailing her. Maybe one of the hotel staff would have a brush and spare clothes.

Sighing loudly she pressed her hands into her eyes, memories threatening to engulf her. What was he doing here? Would she see him again? Did he even wasn't to see her again?

Sherlock had looked just as shocked as she had felt which was a relief of sorts and she knew that her seven-year-old self would have laughed to see him so confused. He had always seemed so self-assured that the few times of which she had caught him of guard had been comical to say the least. She had missed him in a way, or at least missed the easy friendship that had fallen into place. She guessed that there were few difficulties in a child's world apart from the fact that they had always gone out of their way to solve mysteries.

Standing up she shook her head sharply to clear her head. What was she thinking? She had last seen him when she was ten and he a few years older, they were nothing more then old acquaintances and she would be nothing more except an open curiosity.

But the way he reacted to the necklace. She had to admit it would have seemed odd that she was still wearing it; it had simply been impossible for her to leave it behind when she began her life running from country to country. Everything else from her past life had been burnt along with her apartment and now it was the prettiest thing she owned. And pretty much the only thing.

Tugging it of and into her hand she admired the silver pendant. It twisted in silver threads that twined around each other forming a dainty question mark. It was a puzzle, one that she had spent the first three months of his absence trying to solve. Yet it was only when she had solved it that she had realised that her childhood friend was not there to witness her triumph. Moving from the busy streets of London had been the final straw that had sent her memories of Sherlock into storage.

Pulling on her three day old jeans and backpack, Clara stretched her muscles before heading out leaving the door to swing shut behind her. It was time to find new clothes.

At the very least she knew how to make herself appear presentable.

Greg Lestrade stared at the officer in silence. When Anderson had volunteered to follow Miss Whitten and bring her in for questioning he had thought it was a good idea. Now staring at the man in front of him he wondered how on earth he could have made that mistake.

He watched as Anderson struggled against his bonds glaring angrily at the snap of the other police officers camera phones. Lestrade wondered briefly if he should call Sherlock and get him to find the girl but changed his mind in the same instant. She had clearly meant it as a warning for him to let her come on her own terms. And anyway, he had never seen Anderson look so ridiculous.

Anderson was taped to the leg of his office desk, a piece of duct tape across his mouth. His ankles and wrists had been given the same treatment. What stood out however was the dark stain of a permanent marker that spelt out the woman's message to him across Anderson's forehead.

_I believe this belongs to you. See you tomorrow detective. x_

* * *

_**Chapter two is done, well as finished as it will ever be. Hope you like it and are interested. This chapter is only up because of the AMAZINGLY wonderful people who reviewed the last so a big thank you. Just remember to feel free to use the magical box below and drop me a message. **_

_**I LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!**_

_**PS: I hope it isn't too confusing i just happen to for once have a lot of ideas of which i don't really want to give away just yet. I don't want to make it blazingly obvious, it is meant to be a rom/mystery after all.**_

_**Have Fun!**_


	3. Chapter 3

The door to the police station tinkled and Lestrade looked up wearily from the ever-increasing amount of paper work that occupied his desk. A handcuff still firmly attached to one of the legs, served as a reminder that he was expecting a visitor.

Sherlock Holmes strolled inside, his dark coat swinging behind him as he entered the room. Behind him John closed the door and took a seat.

"So what did you want?" Sherlock asked curtly. Lestrade had not bothered with an explanation simply stating that the detective was needed on the case of the café shooting. Of course Sherlock had not appreciated the rather unsatisfactory explanation and had been very tempted to ignore him.

Lestrade sighed and glanced down at the handcuff for the fifteenth time that morning.

"I thought you might be interested seeing as the most likely suspect has agreed to come down to the station some time today."

Sherlock frowned, he had a list of suspects already to do with the murder that had occurred last night and had yet to work out who was the most likely. It was completely improbable that the inspector had come to a solution before him.

"Oh who is it?" John asked crossing his hands in his lap. It was too early for this sort of thing. He had spent the main part of the morning apologizing to Rebecca…? No Sarah for ditching their date for the crime scene. It was doubtful that his life would ever become stable. Too bad for his love life, he might as well give up.

Lestrade glanced once more at the handcuffs and grimaced. Sixteenth.

"I'm guessing it is whomever left behind those." Sherlock answered, pointing at the item at their feet.

John raised an eyebrow. Lestrade sighed again and pushed a photo towards the two men.

"What the hell…" John breathed.

The photograph displayed the image of Anderson in a rather compromising position. Whoever had taken the photograph had taken it from an angle to ensure the message was clearly visible.

John grinned and shook his head.

"Can I have a copy so I can frame it?"

"Who did it?" Sherlock cut across John a frown crossing his face.

The door tinkled again as it was pushed open by one of the newer constables. The young woman smiled apologetically as three pairs of eyes turned to stare at her.

"Umm, sorry sir I know you said not to allow anyone past unless they had authorization but she just walked past, I didn't know what to do, she looked..." The woman blushed and wrung her hands. "She's waiting in the interrogation room."

Lestrade nodded gave her a reassuring smile before standing up and motioning for the two men to follow him. That officer wasn't going to last a month.

Sherlock pushed in front of the detective and strolled down the corridor, almost running into the room where the mysterious woman was waiting. He was beyond curious.

* * *

Clara hummed to her self under her breath, her legs swaying as she sat on the table looking at the one-way glass. Her boots made a clicking sound as she tapped her heels together to the song.

She watched the hand of the clock tick slowly into position. A fly buzzed lazily above her head. She couldn't hear anything from behind the mirror but she knew for certain that she was being watched. Glancing curiously at her reflection she raised a hand and gave a tiny wave understanding that whomever was in the other room would see it.

* * *

Sherlock watched as Clara raised her hand in a little wave, a small smile on her lips. Her hair had been brushed and he let his gaze take in the obviously new blue jeans and black tank top. Her hair had been expertly swept into a messy bun and tiny tendrils had escaped to tickle her cheeks.

She looked confident and self-assured. It was obvious she had picked her outfit to appear sexy and judging by John's slight blush and Lestrade's silence it was working. Yet somehow he could still see the ten-year-old version of the woman smiling cheekily up at where she knew they were still watching.

She was different but still the unchanged. A contradiction.

"I know her name is Clara but who is she really?" John asked tearing his eyes away from the room to ask Lestrade.

Sherlock continued to watch her hum under her breath. What did she think she was doing?

"Her full maiden name is Clarissa Giovanna Whitten, she is twenty five years of age, recently widowed and we have been trying to find her for two years now." Lestrade listed, his arms folded against his chest.

"What for?" John said.

"Wrong question." Lestrade stated sarcastically. "You should ask what not for, it would be a much shorter list."

"She is wanted for questioning about the murder of two police officers two years ago, her involvement on a number of stolen goods and we have reason to believe that she is involved in some sort of underground dealings. "

Lestrade paused for a breath and pointed at the woman behind the screen, a note of admiration creeping into his voice.

"She's the woman you go to if you want something or someone found. As long as she finds your case interesting enough."

John turned to stare at the woman behind the glass and watched as she absently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"How come I've never heard of her before? I mean seriously, someone this big would be engulfed by the media by now." John asked.

Lestrade avoided eye contact and fidgeted.

Sherlock cleared his throat, turning to face John.

"Maybe the fact that she is an ex-police officer may have something to do with it." He answered simply, sneering at Lestrade who gave a tiny nod.

"Actually she was recruited by the FBI as soon as she left school." He finished softly.

John let out a low whistle.

"What happened?" John asked.

"I don't know, the FBI don't tell me anything, I'm just a detective. All I know is that she went rogue during a mission two years ago and as a result shot three man dead, two officers and a civilian. You should ask your brother Sherlock he would probably know her case inside and out by now, he's been looking for her long enough." He finished.

Sherlock frowned and mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously to John to contain a lot of 'stupid' and 'Mycroft'.

Suppressing a snigger, John glanced down at his watch. Maybe they would have time to grab something to eat. Or at least he would eat, from experience he knew Sherlock would just sit moodily.

"How is she connected to this murder?" Sherlock snapped, startling the two men.

Lestrade sighed before slipping his phone out of his pocket and checking the message again.

"According to one of the waitresses our victim was waiting for someone prior to being shot in the head. He was waiting for a woman." Lestrade said before pointing at Clara. "Like I said before, we have been trying to catch her for a while now…"

"And failed." Sherlock cut across rudely.

"Yes we would of certainly failed if not for your brothers help. We know from him that she was going to meet the victim to talk about a new job."

Sherlock nodded before striding across the room his hand on the door handle.

"Where are you going?" John cried.

Lestrade ran across the room before pushing the taller man's hand away and frowning.

"You are not interviewing her. I am. At the most you can sit in the corner and watch, try not to say anything stupid."

Sherlock glared angrily, before pulling open the door with a slam and striding into the room. He felt Clara's eyes burn into the back of his head as he walked across the room to lean against a wall in the corner.

Lestrade followed calmly and closed the door with a click. He stood awkwardly before pulling the chair out from under the table and sitting on it. Clara smiled as she swung her legs as she leaned across the table.

Her blue eyes flicked curiously to Sherlock. His body draped in the shadows. She had thought he might make an appearance but not quite so soon.

"So Miss Whitten, I guess we both know what you're here for." Lestrade began before dumping the photograph of Jack O'Neil's mutilated body. He wondered briefly if she would feel sick.

Clara picked up the pictures with pale fingers and stared intently at the man she had been planning to meet. A slight frown pressed itself onto her forehead before leaving in a flash as her expression turned blank once more. Looking up at the detective she smiled softly.

"I know what I'm here for but I do believe you are quite mistaken with my intent. You see, I'm not here to answer any of your silly questions, no you are going to answer mine and then after you have been so kind you will give me full access to the body so I can examine him." She stated simply before handing the photograph back.

Sherlock blinked. Lestrade frowned. John rolled his eyes from behind the glass.

"No you were planning on meeting Mr. O'Neil on the night of his murder you are therefore my number one suspect. And you are also wanted for questioning on another matter entirely so I would start talking if I was you." Lestrade growled before standing up.

It was obvious to Sherlock that he was trying to use his height to his advantage, to make her submissive. Clara simply rolled her eyes.

"We both know that if I wanted I could walk right out of here and you would have no legal claim to detain me." She began.

"What about the murder you committed two years a?o. You have committed treason and I'm sure I could easily have you locked up for that." Lestrade cut in sharply.

Clara waited patiently for him to finish.

"That's unimportant, seeing I'm now officially only a fugitive in Spain." She smiled. "Let's just say the queen owed me a favor. But can we get down to business. I want to see all of the reports on the victim and any other information you can think of and then like I said earlier before you so rudely interrupted me, I would like to examine the body."

Sherlock chuckled and walked slowly across the room before taking the photo from Lestrade and studying it carefully.

"How were you going to do it?" He asked watching her eyes widen slightly.

"Poison." She answered simply. He had worked it out just like he had solved every puzzle when they had played together as children.

Sherlock nodded before walking across the room and opening the door. Holding it open, he motioned for her to join him.

"Do what?" Lestrade called after them his face a mess of confusion.

"Jack O'Neil wasn't my next client, he was my target." She answered before following Sherlock out of the room.

Pausing at the door she turned to face the stunned detective.

"Oh and next time, please don't send your people after me it is really very annoying having to get rid of them. There are friendlier ways of getting a girls attention."

* * *

_**Finally Chapter 3!**_

_**Forgive me for taking so long I just had a lot of other things that needed to be done and I wasn't a hundred percent sure of where I want this story to go. I had about ten different ideas and I've finally decided that this would be the best one. A BIG thanks to all those lovely people who reviewed, I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations and more. **_

_**Let me know if there is anything I need to improve on and just a warning, if I do continue this story I will probably go back and re-edit the first two chapters. (I've learnt to never post chapters late at night - I'm too tired to check it properly and there are more mistakes then I can stand! Yes I'm a perfectionist.)**_

_**Just remember to Read and Review! I love hearing what you think.**_


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